"A new suit for Holly's big Teddybear," she explained, as he sat down opposite to her. "Christmas is coming, you know. I like to have all ready in advance. Don't you think the color should become a brown-plush bear?"
"It is not depressing."
"It is the color of holly. And depression is not a sensation to cultivate, is it?" She paused to gaze across the river, already shadowed by approaching evening. "I believe in fighting it off with both hands; driving a spear right through the ugly thing and holding it up like Sir Sintram with that wriggly monster in the old picture."
"You would be a good one to be in trouble with," he said abruptly.
She disentangled his meaning from the extremely vague speech, and nodded serious assent.
"Yes, perhaps. I'm used to making the most of things."
"The best of them," he corrected.
"Of course! The most best—why should anyone make more worst?"
They laughed together. But directly the restless unhappiness flowed back into his eyes.
"They do, though!" he exclaimed.